


baptized in bloody water

by orphan_account



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bathing, Blood, Cold Water, Gen, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self Harm, i want to clarify jaskier is like 40 or some shit and fuck canon too, idk what to tag this. i wrote this in 2 days help me, injuries, monsters ment, more monstery geralt, old men both of them, self injury, vague medical stuff idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23779348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “It surprises me, how a gesture so small can feel so very big. How sometimes you don't realize the nervousness or sadness you were holding deep inside until the touch of someone you love lets it all out of you, like your entire body is exhaling.”- Lucy Keating, Dreamology
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 143





	baptized in bloody water

**Author's Note:**

> i rewrote this in two days and edited the same day aka today so like uuh im sorry this sucks. didnt focus as much on the angst like i want to but oh well :/
> 
> “baptized in bloody water” dahmer does Hollywood by amigo the devil

“It surprises me, how a gesture so small can feel so very big. How sometimes you don't realize the nervousness or sadness you were holding deep inside until the touch of someone you love lets it all out of you, like your entire body is exhaling.”

\- Lucy Keating, Dreamology

Jaskier is cold as fuck. His legs are stiff and feel solid like ice that could shatter with a quick bat, but they stay in one piece. Moving them requires more focus and only a tingle is a response he gets from moving them around. He takes another step in the icy waters toward white hair and winces as numbness settles inside him. The tingling soon diminishes when he looks up and sees Geralt thrashing as he is fighting whatever the fuck. Concern taps his heart as be observes the witcher move and disappear underwater. He waits with water drenched hair from the moving man and instead of being half wet, he’s now completely soaked. For now, Jaskier ignores it and steps closer to the bubbles and waves from Geralt’s spot. 

There are no more movement underwater, just stillness; there is threaded silence, waiting, waiting for the the roar of life or the limp cry of death. His chest is emptied and full of air - throttles, ready to burst. Jaskier swears his heart skips a beat with no sign of life coming from Geralt. He tries to stop the racing thoughts and bitter liquid drowning him but as he comes closer and sees no white haired witcher - he panics.

“Geralt,” he croaks with anxiety. 

Nothing. Silence that rakes his skin and bites his mind with horror. 

until; 

Geralt rises with a gasp, choking on water. His eyes closed and face transparent. The witcher opens his eyes and green liquid spills out of his mouth as he coughs. 

Jaskier smiles with glee and relief and shouts, “Geralt!” Instant relief flows into his lungs. He coughs as tears almost burn, but he rears them back and insults the part of him that doubted Geralt. 

The man looks up at him and swims toward the musician with something big in his hand. Water echos and Geralt floats in front of him and throws the object into Jaskier’s hands to catch. 

“Jaskier,” rumbles the witcher as he watches the bard inspect the object and grins when Jaskier gapes. 

Blue eyes, open and revealing, look disgusted and shocked when he says, “got the trophy” and slides his sword where it belongs before the head is thrown back at him. 

“You arse!” yells Jaskier who furiously tries to clean his hands in the murky water. Geralt chuckles, knowing the bard’s attempts are futile.

The man of many, many words (this is much false. geralt says nothing around people - except jaskier and those he’s familiar with) says, “hmm.”

The bard wraps him in a hug and it is returned with shaking and hesitate hands (always, always. its painful to feel the pain of wanting affection.). Then, he pulls away, a whimper slips his ears, and Jaskier grabs the witcher from under his shoulders and tugs him out of the spot he hovers in. 

Geralt slips out of his grip and grumbles, “I can do it myself, bard.” 

His heart tickles at the nickname but he locks it up and frowns as he says nothing, watching the man struggle to move. 

A squelch is heard, and then a pleased hum comes a free Geralt who holds the head of monster that Jaskier doesn’t know the name of. The head is deformed by various injuries and is rotting, which made it unidentifiable to compare to anything he’s seen. 

Geralt moves forward and stops, noticing no one behind him. A splash of water hits Jaskier’s face. 

“Come on,” says Geralt with a quivering smile. 

Jaskier whines and complains but continues to walk behind the man. They come to a spot where the water is at their waists and Jaskier struggles to step further in the frozen waters. 

“Fuck,” he whispers as he squirms in his spot. 

A rough hand grabs his shoulder and tugs him out of his position. Jaskier giggles, and Geralt takes him by the wrist.  
His heart jumps at the tender action that warms his mind and unfortunately not his body.

Ocean eyes stare at the bloody fingers holding onto him and he mumbles,  
“thanks.” 

“Hmm,” voices Geralt or as Jaskier translates: no problem. 

Jaskier takes one last water filled step and goes onto land as a breathing yet drowning man. His teeth are chattering, and he cannot feel anything unless he tried very hard. Coldness aches deep in his bones, and he is tired from jumping into a pond to get details for his song but only got wet in the bad way. He want to complain and tell Geralt his problems, but when he turns and see the state his witcher is in he shuts up immediately. 

There is still a bloody hand on him but, it doesn’t cover the horrid look of the White Wolf. The man had something green and maybe alive in his once white hair, clothes were torn to shreds, and there was sopping wounds of blood that couldn’t be quite by plain fabric. 

“Jaskier.”

He snaps his head up to Geralt’s bruised face and away from their hands and the damaged body he was staring at.

“W-what?” 

Geralt points out, “you’re shivering.” A pause, and he opens his mouth again to say, “and wet.” 

The hold on his wrist tightens and it’s warm yet cold, and he just wants to be thrown in a fire so the ice in his blood would stop. But he also wants to wrap Geralt in a million blankets and spoil him until all of his wounds heal. He hates how Geralt looks right now. To much blue and red. He doesn’t voice his thoughts though. 

Jaskier plays his part as the bard and dramatically rolls his eyes and drawls, “I know.” 

The witcher grunts with a turn, moving Jaskier with him, and they walk to Roach who’s grazing on frosted grass. He sees the limp Geralt has and the blood that keeps rolling down. It makes his stomach recoil. He shouldn’t look like that - shouldn’t pretend he isn’t in pain because Jaskier knows Geralt, and he knows the man is suffering for Jaskier’s sake. There is more he is hiding from the bard, but Jaskier doesn’t know what, and he hates it. 

Their hands depart and Geralt limps to the mare, fumbling with the bags before pulling out a thick fur blanket and throws it at Jaskier. The blanket is soft and thick and fits nicely around his shoulders. 

He tries to offer it back or share, but Geralt ignores him and hauls him up on Roach. Jaskier sees the trembling skin on the witcher and finally says the obvious.

“You’re hurt.”

The witcher exhales like it’s the last thing he should be concerned about, and Jaskier readies to jump off the horse, but Geralt stops him before he can. 

“I’m fine,” he growls, looking directly into blue eyes. 

The shorter man huffs and pouts. “We’re going to a healer after this though,” Jaskier says.

“Hmm.” Translation: “no way in hell.” 

Jaskier sighs and mentally prepares himself for whatever bullshit Geralt might pull when they get to their room. Red hands (they shouldn’t be red. why does he keep it on? why does he not clean?) take Roach’s lead and walks them away from the body of water and into the forest.

Jaskier let’s his words melt in his throat, waiting for the right time to solidify as they travel through grass and trees. No village yet. Geralt continued to them though, and Jaskier is getting worried, so he says, “did it bite you?” 

The witcher doesn’t reply for a while, letting air dance between them until he responds, “yeah” and scratches his thigh. More blood appears. After that the silence carries until they enter the village, and Jaskier brings his blade out. 

“Don’t,” pleads the witcher. His eyes are sad and tired with blue and purple around them. Jaskier puts the weapon away and lets the man take them to the inn. 

As they walk through the village, they hear many things. Jaskier pays attention, while Geralt pretends he does not care. 

Whispers meet their ears, they talk; they talk about lies and rumors they hear, and Jaskier wants to scream and tell them to fuck off, stop hurting Geralt, stop hurting his witcher. He wants to reveal his blade and tell them how great the White Wolf is because he is. He fucking is and Jaskier cares far to much to let people ruin his name just because they don’t understand. 

The vile sounds of human speech makes him want to rip their corpses open because how dare they view Geralt, man as noble and kind like no other just because he’s a witcher. Just because he’s different out of them all with his towering height, shap nails and teeth, knowing eyes, and horns that prod through his hair (and the glance of a tail that he’ll see during baths). It makes him angry. 

He tries to get off of Roach again, pale hands wrapped around his blade but is stopped by the pleading look in Geralt’s eye. It’s not worth it to the witcher. It means everything to Jaskier, but he shall respect his wishes this once because they had a rough day and a shitty contract that lied about the monster. It wasn’t a drowner but something else and it made Jaskier terrified for Geralt’s life that he jumped into the water without thinking (he tries to convince himself he went in to get details, but he knows he was scared, knows he doubted.)

They walk through the village, people hiding their children and adults peeking from windows with hiddden weapons ready to attack, and Geralt stops in front of the inn with their heads down and a trail of blood on Geralt and his path. 

The witcher leans against Roach with a shaky sigh and puts his palms in his face. “Fuck.”

Jaskier tilts his head, confused and concerned, and asks, “what’s wrong-“

Arms are around him again, and he’s hauled off the horse. They both lean onto each other and walk into the inn without a word spoken (jaskier was scared to know what was wrong but he needed to know too. later, he tells himself, later i’ll figure out.).

There was muffled noise before they came in, but now it was gone and people were gawking at them. A drenched and cold bard and a injured witcher that was bleeding on the floor - a sight they must be. 

Faces turn into disgust and fear and anger and protective urge growls inside Jaskier, but again he will listen to Geralt this once and not because it feels like his dick is going to fall off.

Quickly and with no more distrubtance they go up the stairs. Steps creak, loud and old as if the building is ashamed of them. Both men are panting when they reach the top and open the rusty door. Jaskier falls into their bed, and Geralt leans the wall and sits down with a monster head next to him. They stay there, resting and catching their breaths as the night is cold and harsh and so are their bodies. 

They just spent the night in frozen waters for a contract that wasnt going to pay well in the morning by the state of the head. Jaskier couldn’t be bothered to care about it now when his entire body felt like ice. Geralt stands up and walks over to the laying man.

“Get undressed,” he says simply with no tone. 

Jaskier giggles and replies, “buy me dinner first.”

The witcher growls and then tugs Jaskier’s pants and undergarments in one pull. The bard gasps and yelps, “Geralt!” 

Yelllow eyes stare at him tired and drawls out, “want me to get you’re shirt off too?” 

Jaskier wasn’t embarrassed about his body but without warning being removed of his clothes was quite alarming and made him instantly try covering up in the sheets. 

Geralt groans at him doing so and explains, “you’re going to get sick if you stay in your cold, wet clothes. Get undressed, and I’ll start a fire.”’

The man turns away and throws wood in and lights it up with igni. Jaskier peels his shirt and doublet off and wraps himself in the blankets until Geralt points at him and then the fire. 

The bard stands up and walks over while saying, “yknow, next time tell me when you’re going to pull my pants off.” Geralt stiffens up and looks at Jaskier who mumbles, “Caught me off guard.” 

The witcher sniffs and places a hand on brunette’s head. “Sorry.”

Jaskier looks up at him and smiles. “Apology accepted!”

The man nods at the words with subtle twitch to his lips. He turns away to the door without speaking, steps heavy and obviously hurting. 

“Where are you going?” asks the concerned musician. 

Geralt again stiffens and says, “getting the tub and water.” 

Blue eyes open wide and he fires at the white haired man, “you’re injured! Can’t you ask someone to do it?” 

Geralt huffs and walks out the door with a limp and bloody clothes. Jaskier’s heart shakes and his eyes burns. Stupid witchers, never caring about them selves or anyone else. He tries to stand up after waiting for a while but stumbles to the ground, body still numb and bones locked. Jaskier lets out a whine.

Geralt comes back right after that, dragging in an large tub past Jaskier.  
He stops and tilts his head at him. “What’s wrong?” 

“Hmm?” 

A red tint comes on the man’s face and he shakes his head. “Nothing.” 

Jaskier decides to ignore it and watches as Geralt brings buckets of water back and forth until the tub is full. The bard, of course, nags at him for being hurt and bleeding on everything. Geralt seems to ignore his words and blood. 

“The monster must have stole all of that little sense of yours, Geralt,” he points out as the witcher comes over to him. 

Standing over him, Geralt sighs, and says, “get in the tub.”

Jaskier reaches for his hand and it is taken. Geralt’s palm is warm yet it still shivers and Jaskier holds onto tightly, trying to not fall on his ass. Back on both feet and unsteady, Geralt places a hand ok his hip, steadying him and the bard flushed as the touch, suddenly aware he left the blanket on the ground and he’s being touched naked. Then, rough fingers slide over his skin, looking for injury and fuck, the man is going to kill him with those hands. 

Warmth on his hip leaves, and Geralt scowls at him. Jaskier is bare and shivering and ready to combust but also strangle the witcher. 

“You’re an idiot,” says the injured man. 

The bard scoffs, retort ready on his tongue about the other’s idiocy bit he’s cut off from a pair of muscle arms picking him up. His mind blanks and any thought or word goes missing or dead. It doesn’t stop him from admiring the feeling of pure muscle and warmth from Geralt. 

He is not going to act like some virgin mistress - he’s going to act like noble brat he is and shout, “what the fuck are you doing?!”

Geralt growls with a glare and states, “putting your dirty, cold dumb ass in the tub.” 

He tries to wrangle out of the man’s grip and defend himself but is quickly plopped into the water. The heat instantly seeps into his body, making numbness wiggle around inside him and shivering become relaxing as he thaws out. It is painful yet relaxing. An exhale escapes him as he closes his eyes with out word. He expects the sound of wet clothes coming off of Geralt and falling to the ground but it never comes. 

Instead, he hears the man go through the bottles. The sound of them clicking has him perking up, eyes snapping open and mouth ready to scold the witcher. It was normal for them to bathe together, so what was wrong this time? 

“Geralt,” he hisses, “what are you doing?” 

The witcher, hunched over a bag of soaps and scents with a overwhelmed face, turns his head with a crack of alarm and guilt in his eyes. Setting a bottle back, and lifting from his knees, he says, “nothing.” 

Jaskier leans to the end closer to Geralt and hisses, “lier.”

The witcher’s face falls a bit and guilt thrashes in his gut. “Come on,” he says gently, “join me.” 

Geralt whimpers and takes his armor off quietly and stands still as he watches jaskier wait. 

“Geralt?” 

He shakes his head, and Jaskier steps out of the tub. Water spills onto the ground and the bard ignores the wind and bareness on him. He walks to Geralt and rests his hands, hesitant and worrying, on the bottom of the man’s shirt.. 

Their eyes meet, fear and concern, as Jaskier says calmly and with a grace of anxiety, “is it okay if I take this off?” 

It was obvious now that Geralt was hiding something, hiding his pain as usual, but this time it hit closer to home. It was something that Geralt was terrified of being revealed. He feels shaking and smells the raw stench of blood and notices new spots of red on the cloth. 

Horror drops into his stomach, tainting him from the inside, but he ignores it for Geralt’s sake and asks again, “is it okay if I take it off?” 

Yellow eyes look away, full of shame and turmoil, and Geralt, nodding, whispers, “please, don’t be upset.” 

He can only manage a small smile to Geralt before slowly peeling the shirt up. Scars, new and old, watch him, and bruised kiss pale skin - he raised higher so the sleaves pull back, and sees the blood. It pours in the same shape of the barely visibly scars next to them and Jaskier knows theyre too clean too sharp to be made by a monster. Yes, they’re is scrapes and bite marks but those are pale in comparison to the self made injures that leak. Geralt winces and another high noise comes out of him once Jaskier stares to long. The bard quickly pulls the bloody shirt off and throws it to the ground with a wet slap.

He reaches for the pants but is stopped by Geralt who says, “let me.” 

Jaskier takes a few steps back, watching the wounds move and cry red, and watches as black pants are tugged off to reveal more cuts, more claw marks, and even teeth at the knees. Some are scabbing or are fully healed while others a fresh. Must of have been made either before the contract or after Geralt went to get the tub. It didn’t matter how and where they happened, it made Jaskier sick and so terribly sad. 

Geralt looks away, letting his naked body be examined by Jaskier who’s close to tears. The witcher stands rigid as blood drips down his skin, trying to clot. He could barely make out the flesh that wasn’t covered in scars or blood.

“I’m not upset,” says Jaskier, “just wish you’re pain never came to this.”

Jaskier inhales, and takes the witcher’s hand with a longing softness to it, a murmured okay to the callouses. The witcher returns the hold and let’s Jaskier settle him into the tub before joining in behind and grabbing a rag nearby. He soaks it in water and cleans the wounds like Geralt has shown him while the witcher’s presence warms him up. 

Jaskier notices every cut and every drop of blood. He see cuts that were dried, some not. Cuts fresh and others old with purple pink scar gleaming at him..

He desperately wants to cry out, knees weak, and bile ready to run out of him but instead he watches and waits for the man sitting with him. He wants to speak and ask and kiss him until the pain goes away but he knows it doesn’t work like that and it hurts.

“Do you mean it?”

“What?” Jaskier scrubs dirt off and trails a scar. 

Geralt sighs and looks at him with such vulnerability that it could kill the bard. The trust and sadness on his face it was sickening to think of what caused it all. To think what broke Geralt to harm himself. 

“Yes,” he whispers, “I’m upset, dear.” 

Geralt hums and the blood is still running out of him, tainting the water pink. Jaskier wants it gone, to stop running, to not exist. Unfortunately, it does exist and the wounds he could see and smell smiled at him. He gulps, blinking tears out of his eyes and drags Geralt out of the bath with him. 

Jaskier leads him to the bed, and the witcher silently sits like a doll ready to be broken. He ignores the vomit in his stomach and quickly pulls out fresh clean clothes for both of them. 

He puts his on and then grabs the medical kit from their bag and sits next to Geralt to tend to the wounds. His hands shake as they wipe away blood and he wraps bandages around pale, pink arms. Geralt says nothing when he does this, not even a sound when he pulls the thread and needle out for the deeper cuts that overflow with blood and pain. He does nothing even when he tries getting the witcher dressed. A shirt and undergarments is what he gets on him before the witcher winces to much for him to handle.

Quietly tending to the cuts, Jaskier asks with a shaking voice, “my dear witcher, why have you done this to yourself?” 

The question is quite, and the hands tremble, but Jaskier is still soft and warm even when he wants to destroy those who hurt his friend, still strong, still Jaskier no matter what. 

Geralt falls deeper into the pit of pain of guilt of disgusting desires and tears roll down. Angry red lines and old scars continues to burn his skin and scream the story of what a witcher does with his pain. It hurts. It hurts so much and Geralt doesn’t know if it will ever will atop. He doesn’t know how to explain that he does it for the feeling, for the pain, for the punishment, the feeling of monster, feeing of relief, and the reminder he has control. There are so many reasons that they drain down to none, and he sighs as Jaskier stares at him, waiting. 

(jaskier has figured out what geralt was hiding, and he wishes he could kiss and love the pain away. unrealistic.) 

This is a mistake, Geralt thinks and yet he still answers, “because it’s something. A control. Pain has become my only comfort, my only friend, and I’m addicted, Jaskier.” He tugs as his hair as he says, “because It’s a distraction and just there’s no words for me to use to explain other then that pain is my friend. My disgusting and bad friend.” 

Geralt opens his mouth, trying to explain more but his throat closes up. He chokes up and the tears overflow. 

Jaskier hugs the man and whispers, “it will be okay. Just let it all out. It’s okay to cry it out, Geralt.”

A warm hand rubs circles in the witcher’s back, which awakes him from his thoughts. (A flinch and he wants to scream. but he can’t, he cant, and it hurts. Make it stop, please!) The hand slowly travels over the scars that are healed. The touch is comforting and when Jaskier silently presses his face against Geralt’s forearms, brows raised for permission, Geralt nods. The touching is more tender and loving. It’s mixed with soft kisses and mumbles of words that he cannot understand. Geralt shivers in response as the bard traces every healed line with his hands and mouth. 

Then, Jaskier separates himself from the witcher’s skin and looks straight at him. He misses the touch. (Please, please come back.)

Somber and caring, Jaskier says, “Geralt you do not need to be what they claim you to be: emotionless, monster, demon. be free my dear, don’t hold it deep through your skin.” 

There’s a soft, sad smile looking at him and two hearts crack wider. Geralt feels his quivers in deep hurt. Palms hold his head and pull their foreheads together. They kiss slow, absorbing the moment all they cant. 

“Youre human, Geralt,” his bard claims with watering eyes. “Your heart may pump at a snails pace, and your eyes reflect and hiss but at your being, dear witcher, is human.” 

Geralt’s heart breaks, spilling for all to see in the room and he cries, clutches into Jaskier who’s crying with them. 

Jaskier has Geralt wrapped tightly in his arms, white hair on his chest. Tears soak his shirt and he doesn’t care about that. Right now, he cares for Geralt. A blanket is pulled over the witcher by Jaskier who starts singing in a low voice to his witcher.

Geralt’s body shrivles under blankets, pressing his sudden small body against his love’s. The scent of blood is still fresh in his nose but jaskier, smell of buttercups and scented oils and home, cancels it out and protects him. Jaskier doesn’t leave him - Jaskier loves and accepts him easily that the tears make a puddle. Arms hold onto him tighter, and the voice sings prettier. The bard holds his witcher close and kisses him on the head.

“It will be okay,” sings Jaskier, “Just have to let it out. Have a good cry and see the new sun.” 

Geralt sobs and presses closer to the bard. For now, he will cry and let it out in the form of tears and not blood tonight. Tonight he’ll find comfort in his friend, Jaskier.


End file.
